Page 10 of Ruthless Vow

Again, I glance around the cemetery but see no cause for the wariness that crawls through me like a nest of ants.

I reach my father’s grave and after scanning my surroundings one last time, I crouch down and place a single white rose on the flat granite marker that bears his name: BRUNO MORETTI.

He doesn’t deserve a rose. Doesn’t deserve a visit from me. After two years of watching the way Salvatore Russo treated his children then watching the way they have mourned him, I’m starting to finally understand that. He didn’t belittle them, bully them, hurt them. He did none of the things my father did to me. But I want to blend in, to look like any other person visiting a grave, so I go through the motions.

Yesterday, I left the note for Bianca at the base of the gravestone, anchored on place with a rock.

The note is gone. The rock is still there.

For a second, I dare to feel hope. Then I realize that there is no reply, just a rock, anchoring nothing, a reminder that hope and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

I sit by the graveside for a few more minutes, summoning my remaining strength around me like a protective cloak, then I push up to my feet.

The late afternoon sun beats down. A line of perspiration trails down my spine.

The fine hairs at my nape prickle and rise. I feel a sensation deep in my gut, a blend of certainty and fear.

Someone’s watching me.

Heart pounding, I slowly turn my head to glance behind me. There’s a tall male figure standing in the distance, dark shades covering his eyes, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jeans. A six-foot-five wall of muscle. It’s Luca, a deadly weapon in the shape of a person, just like the man he works for.

“Fuck,” I whisper as cold, sharp terror slices through me.

He isn’t making any sudden moves toward me. He just stands there, watching.

Frantic, I look for an avenue of escape. And see a second man watching me. Wavy blond hair. Eyes hidden behind dark shades. But I know his eyes are blue, and I know that if he were close enough that I could clearly see his features, his cheekbones would be high, his nose straight and slightly broad, his lips boasting a natural upturn at the corners that makes him look like he’s always smiling. And I would see the slight resemblance to Leo in the hard line of his jaw. Because he’s Leo’s youngest brother, Cassio.

Sweat slicks my palms, my forehead, my underarms. I back away and turn.

There are two more men, two more walls of muscle. Vito and Joe.

Leo hasn’t sent grunts to hunt me down.

He’s sent his first line. Men he trusts. Men who don’t fail.

What are the odds I can outrun them?

I’d been on the track team in high school. I had a drawerful of medals to prove how fast I was. I still run five miles four days a week.

So, that’s what I do. I turn and I run, dodging gravestones and trees, my feet light and quick. A glance over my shoulder confirms they’re all in hot pursuit.

The glance is too long, though, without watching where I’m heading. I slam into something hard and solid and unyielding that sends me falling backward to land on my ass. I lift my head and look into the cold, black eyes of Leo Russo.

“Going somewhere, mypiccololupetta?” he asks, his voice low, laced with menace.

My gaze darts around as I search frantically for some possibility of escape. Some diversion. Something. This can’t be the end. Not yet.

I’m out of time. About to be bookended by coldblooded killers.

“You have nothing to say to me?” Leo asks, raising a dark brow.

“Fuck you.”

And then I’m on my feet again, surging forward, but something’s stopping me. Luca’s holding the back of my shirt. I open my mouth to scream, to cry out for help, but any sound is cut off by a damp cloth clamped down over my face. It’s soaked in something that smells sweet and heavy, like acetone mixed with fruit. Chloroform?

I’m light-headed, the world spinning, my eyes and nose burning. I claw at Luca’s wrist and try to pry his hand and the cloth from my face. Seconds slide away. My limbs go weak. My legs drop out from under me.

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